Off to the Races
by lauraamma
Summary: Set in the 1930s in Chicago. Liz meets a mysterious and charming man called Red at a club who is not all that he seems, when she discovers he is a notorious bank robber and gangster, wanted and constantly on the run from the FBI. Alternate universe.
1. Chapter 1

_**Well, I own nothing to do with the Blacklist. I just am a massive fan.**_

_**So, I just watched Public Enemies, and I love the true story of John Dillinger/Billie Frechette romance, and then it got me wondering how it would be like if Red was a bank robber in the 30s. This will be based in the 1930's, I'm not sure I have it completely close to the times, but I enjoyed writing this. Hopefully you will find enjoyment reading It, and if you think it is something worthy of continuing, feel free to let me know. :)**_

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><p><em><strong>Off to The Races<strong>_

_**(Set in the 1930s, Chicago)**_

"Ellie, I'm not so sure about this one," Elizabeth said uneasily, looking down at the dress her friend had suggested she borrow and wear for the evening.

The dress was exquisite, Elizabeth couldn't possibly deny that, and although her good girlfriend was a size larger than she was, it still seemed to fit her perfectly. It was red satin and had butterfly sleeves, and finished just below her calves. But having spent most her days working modestly as a coat-check girl, she wasn't used to such fancy dress wear.

"Liz, you've got to," her friend insisted. "Where we're going to tonight, this is the kind of stuff a girl wears. Besides, what's wrong with it? Don't you like it?"

"Of course that isn't it, Ellie," Liz said. "I love it. I do." She turned to inspect the dress again, twisting her body a bit and looking down at the several inches of her legs that were showing. "I suppose I'm just not too sure about tonight. Where did you say we were going?"

"You look swell, I promise. And as to where we're heading out to tonight, I'm not telling you. Not until we get there, anyway. You'll just have to wait."

"Okay, fine." She sighed. "I'll wear the dress. But wherever we're going, if I don't like the look of it then we're leaving first instance I say so, all right?"

xxxxx

"Come on," Ellie said, pulling herself out of the car in a darkly lit industrial area that Liz did not recognize. "We're here. This will be fun, I promise you. We'll have a swell time."

"What is this place?" Liz asked, following her friend anxiously.

They went into a lit alleyway where a recessed wooden red door was , and Liz watched her friend as Ellie rapped her knuckles on the door three times and then stood back, adjusting her dress around her hips. A rectangular peephole slid open, revealing a pair of deep-set eyes belonging to a man, and Liz could hear the sound of a party and band playing behind him.

With one glance at her friend, the peephole shut. Liz heard her friend sigh impatiently, and then there was the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt being slid back. The door swung open, and a man with a bushy beard looked them over before stepping aside to the let the two girls in for the evening.

They stepped through a marbled foyer, past a coat check, and descended down a set of steps to where the party was pulsing around the building. Liz hesitated at the first step in her high heels, taking it one easy careful step at a time, and once she reached the last step, she followed Ellie cautiously towards the sound of jazz music. From a high ceiling hung elaborate crystal chandeliers, and the surroundings before them opened up into a large, marble-floored dance hall. One section of the room was the dance floor filled with couples already jamming, and in another were tables and areas to sit and mingle in groups.

Wafts of whitish-grey smoke from cigars and cigarettes encompassed the sitting area, and as Liz peered past the sea of heads on the dance floor, she could see a band playing on a raised platform. Across from them and down to the left was where a wood-paneled bar was, where a man in a tuxedo was serving liquor.

"Let's get a table and sit," Ellie suggested through the music, and Liz agreed and followed her friend passively while she looked around at their surroundings with a mixture of both rapture and confusion. They found an available table and pulled out their chairs, sitting close by each other while they looked around and took in everything.

"How did you know where to find this place?" Liz asked, searching for any other familiar faces in the room. At that moment, the music died down and there was a loud murmuring of voices before applause broke out from around the tables. Wanting to fit in, Liz quickly joined in by clapping her hands together and then the band started with another song.

"I met a good fellow who suggested this place," Ellie explained to her. "He told me if I was interested in a good time and cutting up, then this was the place. What do you think? It's wonderful enough, isn't it?"

"It is," Liz admitted, feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. "I haven't been out like this in a long while. It was nice of you to suggest I come."

Just then, laughter broke out abruptly from a group of people four tables away from them and Liz's eye was drawn to the sounds. The instance her eyes made a curious sweeping of the group- which consisted of five men and two women- it occurred to her that one of the men was staring directly at her.

He seemed to be the only one in the group that hadn't laughed, as if he was too preoccupied with staring over at her to take any of the conversations shared around the table in. He had a cigar streaming with smoke in his right hand and Liz was stunned by the gall he had to not look away from her, even while knowing she had caught his staring.

His eyes seemed to go all the way through her. He was wearing a pin-striped white dress shirt, dark grey vest, tie tucked in, and black slacks for the evening. His dress sense and the noisy characters he surrounded himself with at the table suggested they were of upper-class calibre in the socioeconomic ladder. He was a man of both wealth and taste.

Liz held his gaze as she smiled tentatively at him.

He just stared at her for a moment longer and smiled a little bit with the corners of his mouth and then, finally, he looked off in another direction while slipping his cigar between his lips, pursing them, and taking in a puff. Liz was still watching him as he reached around in his chair and retrieved a black fedora. As he rose to his feet and placed his hat on the table in front of where he was sitting, he bent down to stub his cigar out in an ashtray on the table, and then he was making a start around the table in what seemed to be her direction.

She glanced away quickly, sat one elbow on the table, and rested her chin in the heel of her hand, not daring to glance his way again. She got an unnerving feeling that he was going to approach her and try to mingle with her, and when she let her eyes slide sideways, she saw that the fellow was indeed approaching, his eyes fixated exactly on her and nothing else in the room. There appeared to be a determined way of his stride and countenance, and even from this distance away, Liz could feel the heat of the fellows gaze as he looked at her as if she were the only one worthy of looking at in the room.

"Shall we get something to drink?" Ellie's voice broke through Liz's looking, and she seemed to follow her gaze. "You know that fellow, Liz? He seems to be making his way over here?"

Liz shook her head silently. She was certain she didn't know the man at all. She didn't recognize him, but she could tell just by catching him staring at her from his seat at his table that he had looked at her in a way that told her he liked her already more than just a little bit.

When the fellow reached their table with his hands tucked deeply in his trouser pockets, stopping before them, Liz felt her heart pounding furiously as she looked up at him. Again, his eyes were only on her. It was as if Ellie, her good and admittedly better-looking friend, was non-existent to him. Up closer, Liz thought he was a very handsome fellow, although older.

"Good evening." The man's voice was deep, soft, and still, he seemed barely aware of her friend's presence, so focused did his attention seem to be on Liz.

"Good evening, sir," Liz replied, struggling to keep her voice even.

"You look incredibly beautiful this evening. That is a ravishing dress you're wearing." Liz felt her cheeks glow warm under his intense scrutiny, as he lowered his eyes and slowly took in every inch of the dress he could see she was wearing from under the tabletop tonight. She definitely had Ellie to thank for letting her borrow it this evening. "Care for a drink? I'm buying."

Liz eyebrow's rose slightly, taken aback by his words. The man was certainly not bothering to go to extreme lengths to hide his delight in the look of her appearance, and she couldn't remember meeting someone who was so bold and straightforward before.

"I appreciate the offer, sir," she said, "But I'm not drinking tonight."

"Hmm." He chewed the inside of his cheek as he seemed to mull that over, still paying her friend no attention. "If not a drink, how about a dance then?"

Instantly, she felt like declining. She could not understand this man at all, no less why he had taken such a sudden interest in her. But then she peered around the room, saw how everyone else seemed to be having a jolly good time on the dance floor, and decided, Why shouldn't she? What harm would be done? After all, Ellie had brought her there this evening with the intentions of letting loose and having a swell time.

She looked over at her friend, who shrugged and smiled at her encouragingly.

"All right then. A dance would be fine."

Getting to her feet, Liz hesitated as the man held a hand out to her, and then she decided she was acting rather immature, so toughening herself up, she accepted his hand and slid her hand through his, allowing him to lead her towards the dance floor.

The band stopped, there was a round of applause through the room, and then a softer, slower song began playing.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asked her through the music.

"Liz," she answered softly, and once they had found a nice spot to dance, they turned and faced one another. She looked him over carefully with her eyes as he slipped in closer and placed a hand on her waist gently, and she reached up to rest her hand on his shoulder as they began moving to a basic two-step. "You got a name yourself?" she asked him, when he didn't voluntarily give her his.

"Of course." The warmth of his fingers seemed to soak through the satin of her dress, and as he met her eyes, he smiled at her. "The name's Red."

For a moment, she assumed he was joking and she lifted her chin up and laughed softly over the music. But when she caught his eyes again, she quickly realized otherwise. His expression was quite unreadable, but she gathered he was nothing if not serious on that. "Red," she whispered softly in acceptance. "That's it? Just... Red? Like the color of my dress?"

"Yes, exactly like the color of your dress. And your lipstick."

"That's a strange name for a man? Just... Red?"

"Well, yes. It's more so of a... nickname that I have been granted over the years."

Liz was surprised to find she was enjoying herself already, in dancing with this stranger. His touch and closeness didn't seem in any way uncomfortable. In fact, the only thing remotely uncomfortable that she found about the situation, was how he gazed at her with his green eyes.

She went back and forth out of nerves, between looking him in the eyes and looking across his shoulder, but each time she let herself look at him, his gaze seemed unwavering and solely on her and nothing else in the room. It was as if she was an exotic broad, something intriguing to him that he couldn't work out. In contrast, Liz hardly felt there was anything new or exciting about herself at all.

She lived a modest, if yet boring life. She worked days as a coat check girl, and still lived with her father in their apartment on the West side of town. If it hadn't been for Ellie insisting she head out this evening, she would have simply been stuck indoors doing nothing fresh or different.

"You're a very good dancer, Red," she said, to break the ice.

"Thank you. You are, also."

She had to think of something to say. All she came up with, which was hardly clever, was, "Why Red? Why the nickname Red? You got a real name to give me?"

He seemed uncomfortable on the topic. "Let's not talk about all that. It's such a trivial matter," he said dismissively. She felt the movement of his shoulder beneath her hand as he shrugged. "Tell me about yourself instead, Lizzie." The way he readily made up a nickname for her, something no one else usually called her as, it sent a shiver of delight through her. She found she did not mind being called that at all. Especially not in his rich, smoky voice that she took instant liking to. "What do you do? Do you come here often? I so want to know."

She felt a flare of disappointment that he hadn't answered her question. But hopefully they could come to that again later. "There's nothing all that interesting about me," she admitted humbly. "I check coats at the Steuben Club. I still live with my father. This is the first time I've come here. I don't come out very often." Talking about herself was enough to put her to sleep. "So, what do you do? Surely that is far more interesting than hearing about me all night..."

"Oh, no. On the contrary, I find you to be very interesting."

She leaned back a little. She couldn't tell whether he was just fooling. "Do you?"

"Yes. Extremely so." His hold on her hand loosened and she felt like retreating away from him when his fingers grazed the scar on the inside of her wrist, something she had gotten when she was a child. "Is this a scar I see, on your wrist? What happened? How did you get it?"

"What does it matter?" she asked, feeling quickly on the defensive. "I've had it since I was a little girl. Most men don't like that about me- the scar, the... deformity. There was a fire and I hurt myself. It turns them off, makes them feel I'm different from all the other girls. Most men don't like it about me, okay?"

"Well, let me reassure you," he said, running his thumb along the puckered mark, "I'm not like most men."

"Oh, yeah?" She couldn't say she believed him, despite how different he seemed from all the rest.

"In fact, I'm confident you will never meet another man like me. Not for miles and miles." Startling her, he brought her hand closer, turned his face towards her wrist, and she felt the warmth of his breath and his lips as he pressed them to her burn on her wrist. As he leaned back to look at her, he gave her a kind smile. "And this certainly isn't going to put me off, nor is it anything repulsive like other things I've seen that comes naturally with my particular lifestyle."

It took her a moment to get over the shock of him doing such a thing to her. Liz was used to men, particularly her age, catching a glimpse of her burns and reeling in disgust. Not this man, though. He hardly looked bothered by it one bit, obviously. But once he interlaced his fingers through hers and started moving again as the band played on, Liz recollected herself.

"So do you come here often?" she enquired, a little breathlessly.

"No, I've never been here before tonight. This usually isn't my scene, but a few friends insisted that we have some fun here tonight."

"Are you from around this part of Chicago?" she murmured quickly, desperate not to let them fall into an awkward silence.

"You could say that I'm from everywhere. I never stay in one place for too long. I enjoy constant change. I live for unpredictability. Me and my friends over there, we're constantly on the move. We never stay in a place more than three days at a time. It is certainly far safer that way for us."

To hear him talk and tell her these things, Liz couldn't deny it was so very fascinating. She had always dreamed of getting out-of-town and travelling, experiencing the world. Only, with her father ill and having to rely on her, that was out of the question. She loved her father too much to leave him. However this man, Red, clearly had different views and lived a different way of life than she did- whatever that lifestyle may be, it didn't seem as if he wanted to disclose it to her- but it was undoubtedly fascinating, the way he talked about it rather passionately.

"So you're a traveler? You never stay in one spot for too long?"

"Yes."

"I've always dreamed of myself being like that," she confessed quietly. "The idea of travelling has always appealed to me. There has to be so much more to this world than I've seen or experienced. I'd love to go on a bit of an... adventure. It has just always sounded so awfully-" Her words were interrupted when a man approached them grimly. She recognized him as one of the man's companions from his table.

The man was dark-skinned and tall, wearing a black trench coat and a cap over his head. "Ray," she heard him speak over the music urgently, and it occurred to her that he was addressing the man she was currently mingling and dancing with.

Sending an apologetic smile her way, the fellow who told her his name was Red (yet was called Ray by the other man) dropped his hand from her waist and separated himself from her to give the man his undivided attention.

She watched as the man clapped Red - or Ray, she was a bit confused what to call him- on his shoulder and leaned down to say something in his ear.

"It's time to go," Liz thought she heard the man tell him. "They're outside. Now's a good enough time as any to make a move out of here, unless you want to go into the can again?"

"That's a ridiculous question, my friend," Red laughed at the man's words, and the man patted him on the back again while Red accepted the black fedora he then passed him- something which obviously belonged to him. He placed his fedora on his head and turned to look at her.

"Ray?" she whispered in confusion.

He glanced over at the table at where the rest of his friends were, and the group of men had already stood from their seats, gathering their things, and seemed to be preparing to leave also with the women in tow. She watched the side of his jaw clench. "Yes, that's my name, Lizzie."

"You told me your name was Red, now you're telling me it's Ray. Which is it?"

"Both," he explained, straightening his spotted tie that was neatly tucked in. "It was a little half-truth on my part." He patted down the breast pockets of his fancy suit, as if checking ahead of time that he had something with him, and when he finally met her eyes again, his mouth opened and then closed up, as if he was unsure how to say his farewells to her. "Unfortunately I'll have to be leaving you now. There is really no more time to stay, regrettably. But thank you, Lizzie."

"What for, sir?"

"For indulging me in a dance and for letting me talk with you. I haven't had the opportunity to do that with a beautiful woman in months. It has been a true pleasure."

He gave her a tip of the brim of his hat with his fingers, threw a quick enigmatic smile her way. Then he was gone, striding away from the dance floor like a man desperate to leave before something bad fell upon him. Liz tried to follow him with her eyes, only the place was too crowded and she lost sight of him fairly quickly.

Then it happened.

Suddenly there was a loud commotion as the door burst open, and the FBI were filling in with rifles in their hands. There was a loud scream from everyone in the room, couples stopped dancing, seated people who were mingling stood up in alarm.

"No one move!" One of the officers cried. "Everyone please remain seated and calm. There is no cause for concern. We're just looking for a group of men! Please remain seated and then once we're done, you can all be on your way."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you guys so much for your alerts and reviews. They mean the world to me. I do hope you enjoy this one, it's been fun writing this. I just hope it isn't terribly written :p**_

_**I don't own the Blacklist.**_

_**And all mistakes, etc, are mine.**_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Two<strong>_

Sam lay in his terribly uncomfortable bed, when he heard his daughter get in quietly.

She stood by the entryway into his room for a moment, taking in a deep breath to prepare herself. It was always like this, when she got home; She was never quite sure of what she would be coming home to, when it came to her father.

Her daddy Sam had been struck with a terrible virus months ago, and he hadn't recovered from the illness since. He spent most of his days in bed, not having the energy to do much anymore. It was why Liz threw herself into working the way she had; They had bills to pay, supper to put onto the table, and with her father sick in bed all day, it meant that Liz had to quickly adopt the role as main provider. She knew other families had it plenty worse, though, so she counted herself lucky. She was thankful for every day that her father made it through. The illness didn't want to leave him and his body was probably shutting down on him.

"Oh, honey," he whispered at the sight of her in the red dress Ellie let her borrow, his eyes gleaming with tears at the corners.

"Hey Daddy," she replied gently. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling just fine. You know me; I have my bad days and my good days." He tried to sit up against the pillows and the bed-frame to get a better look at her, but his body did not seem to want to cooperate with him. Just a simple movement such as sitting up made him feel exhausted and drained. There were times Elizabeth reminded him of her mother; In a red dress and with her hair out, it was another one of those times. He felt his heart seize as if someone had wrapped a hand around it and clenched it tight. "You look more and more like your mother each passing day, honey. You look beautiful."

"Thanks. Ellie let me borrow it."

"Did you have a nice time out tonight?"

Liz didn't want to seem too enthusiastic about how good a time she had out tonight; particularly the part about dancing with an older gentleman who she found so very interesting. Especially not with her father sick and confined to bed the way he was. She felt it was selfish of her, to be going out and having a fun time while her father had no choice but to stay in bed.

"It was just fine," she answered simply, echoing his words. "We had to cut it early, though. The police raided the area."

Sam sat up a bit higher against the pillows, eyeing her with interest. A lock of his fringe fell into his forehead, sticking to the beads of sweat. "Did they give a reason why they did that?"

"Apparently they were looking for a group of men, Daddy," she answered, with an uncertain shrug. "I'm not sure why. They never said much; They just looked around, asking people questions, so Ellie and I decided to leave early." She came towards him, leaning down to kiss him on his cheek. She tried not to pay any attention to how hot and fevered his skin felt. Or notice the soiled and stained undershirt. The dark bags and lines under his eyes. "I'm gonna get to bed now, all right? I have to be working early tomorrow. Is there anything you need before I do?"

"No, sweetie pie. Get a good night's sleep."

Once she got into her bedwear and slid under the bed sheets in her room, Liz found sleeping wasn't going to come to her easily tonight. She rolled on her back, staring up at the moldy and cracked ceiling above her. For some reason, she found herself thinking about the fellow she had met and danced with tonight, Red- or Ray. Maybe his name wasn't even really either Red or Ray? Maybe he made the whole thing up to fool her. She couldn't think up any good reason somebody would lie about their name, though.

Something sure was different about him; Something she could not put her finger on.

She hadn't thought that much of it at the time, while being in the present moment with him, but he had definitely seemed to be evading answering any personal questions about himself. As if he was hiding something.

His evasiveness on her questions aside, she knew beyond any level of doubt that he was a man with an abundance of money; The dapper dress sense and the company he associated with around the table tipped that off. She thought back to the way he had stared at her from his table, the penetrating look he gave her which made her feel as if he was seeing straight inside, rather than just the outside of her. Charming and handsome as the devil himself, that was what he was in her eyes.

She hadn't met a man like him before, and yet, she didn't even know what type of man he was to begin with. _But there was definitely something there..._

She knew it was pointless, thinking about a man and trying to work him out when she knew it was unlikely she would see him again. He had already said his farewells, he thanked her graciously for the dance and the chat, and then that was that. He did not ask for her permission to see her again or to become better acquainted with her.

It was a one-time thing.

And Liz had never been the type of woman to fantasize about a man coming into her life and making it easier. She should stop thinking about him, and wondering. Yet, why was she there, laying in her bed, unable to?

XXXX

The next morning at the Steuben Club, where she worked, it was full and bursting with people. The minute she thought she was finished and could catch a break to herself, the next person popped up and appeared. It was always the same; She'd take their coat, hat, or bag, store it away, and hand them a numbered ticket so that they could return for their belongings in exchange for the ticket. Sometimes they offered her a generous tip in return, but this was a rarity for her.

It was the same song and dance, every time:

"Good evening, may I check your coat?"

The job as a coat check girl was hardly anything Liz would have called demanding or interesting, but she had to make do with what she could get. She had no right to complain or make a loud fuss about how much of a bore the job was, unless she wanted to lose it; Something she could not afford to happen to her, especially not in these hard times and with her father sick the way he was. She was guilty of daydreaming on the job more times than she could count, but it helped her get through the evening until she could go home.

By 10.30 in the evening came, she was feeling exhausted and hardly in the mood to socialize. It didn't help that she was expected to act gregarious and cheerful when greeting customers. She kept throwing looks outside of the entrance, watching the view of the outside of the club get darker and darker through the double doors. Despite the late hours, handful after handful of men and women were standing around, talking loudly among themselves and smoking.

A man wearing an expensive suit cut through her vision, she took his coat for him, and just as she was turning back to hand him his ticket, her eyes were drawn to the man suddenly standing next to him. She felt her breath hitch in her throat and the blood rush to her head as it slowly dawned onto her that Red, the fellow she had shared a pleasant dance with just last evening, was standing at the laminate counter, calmly waiting to get his coat checked as well.

She swallowed against a lump that had formed in her throat and gave the other man her attention instead, handing him his ticket and forcibly smiling. She had no idea in the slightest what Red- or Ray- was doing at her place of employment. Could it have been a mere coincidence?

She had to interlace her fingers in front of her tightly to squash the temptation she felt to reach over and touch him, make sure he was really there in the flesh and not just a mere wish on her part. She watched as his slate-colored eyes took in the clothes she was wearing; The cardigan, blouse, and wrap skirt that made up her uniform. Somehow she had forgotten how intense his gaze could be, and it took her a beat to get over the unexpected shock of seeing him again.

Back to rights, she cleared her throat gently, before whispering unthinkingly, "What are you doing here? Are you following me now?"

When he finally met her eyes, he gave her a quick closed-lipped smile. "Hello, Lizzie." She had also forgotten how wonderful his voice sounded. She realized she liked him calling her that._ Lizzie_. "And, as to answer your question, no. I'm hardly following you. You told me you work here, last night. The Steuben Club." She did vaguely remember telling him that, but not once did the thought cross her that he might have used that information as a way to see her again. He looked around her place of employment, taking in the glistening floor, the counter she was standing behind. "Somehow, it isn't as good as I had pictured it was in my mind. But we can't do anything about that, now can we?"

She found herself at a loss on what to say. Her brain still wasn't working right over the shock of his sudden appearance. She never once believed she would ever see him again. "So... why are you here, sir? Can I check your coat or your hat?"

He removed his hat from his head, but he did not pass it to her. "No, I'm not here for any of that. Your service with me won't be necessary. The reason I came here tonight was strictly for dinner. Dinner tonight, you and me."

It did not come out of his mouth as a question to her. He wasn't asking her to dinner with him, he was more so telling her, and she had best come. That was what his tone of voice told her. Clearly he was used to getting his own way, with most things in life. And, clearly, he expected her to be another one of those things that came so easily to him.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" she asked him, with just enough sass in her voice to let him know she wasn't pleased.

If he caught on to her tone, he didn't show it.

"Both. The choice is yours. But I'm certainly not above and beyond getting on all fours and whining like a dog until you agree to come with me." She tried not to look shocked when he glanced down at the shiny marbled floor again, as if considering his options. "The floor doesn't look very nice on the knees, however. But if that's what you want?" He bent as if he was actually going to do it, and Liz had to physically reach over and stop him. He sure was different.

"Don't. Please just... don't. I finish in two hours."

"I'll happily wait. I'll see you outside in two hours, Lizzie."

He nodded at her once, smiled, and placed his fedora back on his head. Then he left outside the doors of the building without another word, leaving Liz feeling frazzled. He sure was strange, a different man than any she had ever met before. There was something about him, something she wasn't sure of. She couldn't believe she had actually accepted so quickly to head out to dinner with him. It was baffling to her that he didn't even mind waiting two dreadfully long hours until she got off.

When the time came and she was finished for the evening, she was disappointed to find him waiting outside the bricked building for her like a loyal dog, ready to take her out to dinner. The streetlights illuminated the rough, cracked texture of the asphalt as she stood there uncertainly, shivering as the night time wind cut through the fabric of her clothes. Car horns beeped as automobiles went roaring past on the road. She had half a mind to tell him she wasn't interested in dinner with him, so that she could head on home to her father. But he had made it clear on her that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Surprising her, she watched him hastily unbutton the overcoat he was wearing with steady fingers, and he ripped it off his shoulders before holding it out to her. "Here, put this on. You're cold, Lizzie."

_At least he was being attentive to her needs... A woman had to admire a man like that._

She found she was speechless when he stepped towards her, sliding his overcoat securely around her shoulders to provide her warmth from the chill in the evening air. Their eyes met and held for a moment as he fastened one of the buttons so it wouldn't slide off her, and she couldn't deny she felt immediately better, snug and warm with his coat.

"Thank you," she whispered, once she finally regained use of her voice. "That's very kind of you."

"You're very welcome, Lizzie. Now, shall we make a start?"

Since Liz didn't have any better idea what to do, she nodded and he held his arm out of her. They walked together in silence, her hand tucked inside his arm as he lead the way, half of her body pressed against him for that extra bit of warmth. She still couldn't believe she was actually doing this, but there was no going back now. When she dared to glance over at him, she found he was watching her as they walked leisurely. She could feel him shivering in the dress shirt and vest he was wearing.

"I'm sorry to have taken your coat from you. Now you're the one that's shivering."

"Nonsense. I would prefer for myself to be cold, rather than you." That was a bold and forward statement, but she tried not to let her shock show in her appearance. "Besides we don't have far to walk now. I know a nice place that is just across the road."

They crossed the road and Red stepped forward to hold the door to the restaurant open for her. She thanked him with a smile, impressed by his manners. Once inside, a man behind the counter greeted Red enthusiastically, obviously having met before, and then Red helped Liz out of his coat, then passed it and his hat to the man who hung them behind the counter on a coat rack.

"For two tonight," Red explained good-naturedly. "Thank you."

"Right this way, Mr. Gibbons," the man said, leading them away from the counter into the dinner section.

The place looked cozy and intimate, Liz thought. She hadn't gone out to dinner in a very long time. Already, people were seated and chatting at tables. The man showed them to a table that was available and Liz saw Red thank the man by giving him a very generous and large tip. Once they were free to themselves, Red pulled her chair back for her and she sat, inspecting their surroundings nervously. She felt underdressed for some reason, when she took in what other women were wearing in the premises.

"Well, I must say I'm surprised," she began when Red finally got himself seated comfortably across from her.

He gave out a soft, breathy laugh as his eyes met hers. "What made you surprised?"

"That you went out of your way and went through all this fuss and trouble so that you could have dinner with me, that's why I'm surprised."

"This is no trouble nor is it a fuss, I can assure you."

"That's strange, seeing as last night you sure appeared as if you were in a rush to get away?"

He opened his mouth, about to explain to her, but then she noticed how he closed it and simply smiled at her instead. "Would you like a drink?" he asked her.

Before she could so much as reply, the man from the counter appeared, as if it was a privilege to be serving the man seated before her. Red started speaking to the man in another language, something that was the very last thing she was expecting, and Liz noticed her mouth hang open.

He was clearly well-cultured, educated, and knew a lot. He had probably picked up different languages from travelling to different locations, as he had told her last night during their dance shared together. She had found him rather attractive last night, and now, even more so.

The man gave her a smile before he disappeared off to get their drinks prepared.

Her mind went blank as she brought her attention back to the man sitting across from her. For a moment, she had no idea what to say or what their previous conversation was about. But much to her relief, the man returned quickly, plunking a tumbler down on the table near Red's elbow. The drink Red had ordered her was dazzling; She had no idea what it was, but as the man placed it on the table in front of her, she inspected it, bewildered. The liquid inside the martini glass was blue and it smelled potent.

When she looked up, she found her date was watching her reaction with some amusement glistening away in his eyes. "It's called an Aviation cocktail. Judging by your reaction, I'm assuming you've never had one before?"

"That's correct. Usually I'm not such a drinker."

"Well, that's endearing." He didn't sound as if he was fooling with her by saying that, so it made her feel better about how unknowledgeable she no doubt seemed. He raised his glass. "To you," he toasted, and she felt strangely uncomfortable by that. Why would he bother toasting to her?

"To you," she went along with him, picking up her glass carefully. She _chinked_ her glass against his and took a quick, experimental sip of the drink. It was surprisingly refreshing, and not as bad as she had first thought it was going to taste. The gin left a fiery trail in her throat.

"What do you think? I know a lot of women who consider an Aviation cocktail their favorite drink. One woman once described it to me as it evoking the feelings of Spring. Would you agree?"

She sat her glass back down on the table and sat straighter in her seat, resting her elbow on the table and supporting her face in the heel of her hand. "Is that what you do? You do this with a lot of women?" If so, she couldn't exactly blame him. He seemed like a man who had a lot to say, a lot of experience in the finer things.

"Not recently, no. I haven't been in the company of a beautiful woman for over four months." He took another sip of his own drink, his eyes boring into hers. "Well, until last night, I should say. With you."

He peered deeply in her eyes as if it was nothing to tell a woman she was beautiful.

She didn't know whether to laugh out loud or whether to simply thank him.

"What exactly is it that you do for a living?" she asked him curiously. She hadn't missed the fact that he obviously came from money, considering how well he dressed and how he was treating her now, lavishing her with a drink that was probably more than she could afford. "You never did tell me what you did, did you?"

He looked away from her for a moment, staring across the room. His mouth moved, as if he was chewing something. "There's never one constant thing that I do, Lizzie. I like to dabble, here and there. I like mental stimulation, as all of us do."

He still hadn't properly answered her question. "So what do you mainly do?"

Liz noticed his hands grew restless at her question. He fixed up and loosened the tie he was wearing from around his neck. "Here's an idea: Let's hear more about you instead. Do you enjoy your job?"

It was no mystery to her that he was deliberately evading her question. He was being extremely vague about himself. There was clearly something there that he didn't want her to know about himself. But she let it slide for the moment, playing along. She could get back to that question later on. "We all need money to survive. My father can't work, so I do it for him." She shrugged and looked down at her hands, her fingers finding the scar on her wrist. It was a habit she had ever since she could remember, and it made her feel less nervous, every time she stroked it.

When she glanced up at Red again, she saw the way his eyes were watching what her finger was doing, in stroking her scar. Heat rushed up to her cheeks and she clasped and unclasped her hands before shoving them under the table to make herself stop.

He nodded and returned his eyes to her face, picking up his drink and taking another sip. She was relieved he didn't mention her nervous habit. He observed her, head tilting slightly. "Not to sound rude in asking, but... how much do you earn?"

"Three dollars an hour. Most men get eight." She watched him take another sip of his drink, and she picked up her glass and did the same. "When are you actually gonna tell me what you do, aside from your... travelling?"

Effectively distracting her, she couldn't help noticing his hand digging into the pocket on his shirt. Then he brought out a couple of dollar notes and slid them across the table towards her. She made no move to take them. He said nothing, just held her gaze in his as he pushed the money towards her. She decided he was the most unnerving man she had ever met.

"What are you doing?" She hissed in outrage, "You think I'm gonna take your money?"

"Please do. I have plenty to spare, Lizzie."

"I'm not taking your money," she whispered flatly. "You're insane, throwing your money around like that..." He was unbelievable.

He shrugged, very cavalier. "Perhaps. But I'm sure you need it more than I do. Who knows? It might help with your father."

"Oh, yeah? And if I take it, then what's the price?" She wasn't that foolish to accept a man's money without expecting there to be a consequence. A man couldn't be that generous. "You know, if you're looking for a girl to fool around with and have some fun with, then she's not me. You want some girl to take home for the night and have some fun with, go find someone else. I've heard they have girl's around here that do that type of thing, but I'm not one of them."

Startling her, he laughed at her words. His laughter was just as unnerving as the rest of him. "Is that what you think, Lizzie? That I'm doing this for a bit of fun? Personally, myself, quickies have never interested me. That's just not me. If I'm going to have a girl then I'm more interested in the long-haul. I want a woman who will hold me as I die in her arms."

How he spoke about his death, so calmly, was disturbing. It was as if he wasn't expecting to be around for very long, and that at any minute, he could be killed. "And have you had any luck with that? In finding the right girl who will let you die in her arms?"

"I believe I have finally found her, yes." Liz didn't need to ask who he was implying of. She could tell, just with the way he looked at her, somewhat softly and tenderly, that he meant her.

"And that's all hinting to me, is it? You're talking about me?"

"Yes," he confessed. "Well done." He didn't even bother hiding it. It was scary.

"That's a serious thing to say to someone you've only just met?"

"That is true, yes. I don't know you. I don't even know who you are, no less where you came from. But it only takes less than a minute to truly decide whether you want something and, with me, when I want something, I have to get it. Like _money_, for instance."

She picked at the stem of her glass with her fingers, digesting his words down. "So you want me?" she asked him doubtfully.

"Yes. I believe it is certainly no secret that I want you. The only question now, is whether you want me also?" He fell silent, shifting and draping an arm around the back of his chair as he watched her intently, as if waiting for her to answer.

Liz couldn't believe this. She wasn't sure whether it was all really happening, or whether she was just imagining it. This fellow was unbelievable, and straightforward, and charming as hell, she thought. She had no idea what to think or how to take his words. He began speaking again before she could so much as get anything out of her mouth.

"All right, I'll cut to the chase, Lizzie. I certainly don't want to lie to you, because if this_ is_ going to happen, I would prefer you knew everything before you made your decision. Have you listened to the radio or seen the newspapers recently?"

Liz had no idea where he was going with this. How could he change the topic so fast?

"I listen to the radio, yes."

"And have you heard about that group of notorious men that go around, from town to town, looting money like deviant rascals?"

Liz's father was the one that mainly listened to the radio, but she'd heard bits now and then. People were struggling to make ends meet and crime was becoming very popular. Where was he going with this, though? "I've heard a bit about it."

She noticed he appeared suddenly nervous as he lifted his glass, slugged the last of it down, and then plopped it back down on the table. "I'm one of those rascals, Lizzie," he muttered down at the table. "I'm Raymond Reddington. Just four days ago, I was stuck in a hell-hole of a prison called Crown Point. A few good friends came, a diversion was created, and I got out. Now all of these bumbling G-men are constantly on our trail, and that was why I had to leave early, as I did, last evening." He gave her a wryly apologetic smile at the news. "I haven't had a woman or no less experienced the pleasures of being with a woman for over fifteen years. I figure, before I die, I probably should."

She was shocked. And scared by his confession. And maybe left with an odd sensation as if she was drowning. "Why would you tell me all that? I could call someone over here, get you arrested."

"Do as you will, with that information. It's your decision, your choice to make whether you want to rat me out or not, Lizzie. But I, for one, won't be stopping you, whichever decision you choose to make. But if that's what you want, if you want to tell someone, then now is your chance. If not, come with me to my room where I'm staying."

Liz sure did have a feeling, since the first time she laid eyes on him last evening, that he was different from all the rest. But that was most definitely not the difference that she had in mind.

**Soooo... how was that? I'm one of those people that get kind of anxious so that is why it has taken me such a long time to update. I apologize and I'll update a lot more quicker. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think, as I'm not sure if I'm doing this right or if it's lacking anything vital. **


	3. Chapter 3

_**First of all, I own nothing to do with the Blacklist.**_

_**Secondly, I want to thank you all. I wanted to get another chapter out before Christmas. I hope you all have a great one, spent with loved ones and family. I hope you enjoy this chapter and, as usual, I'd love to know your thoughts. :-)**_

_**All mistakes are my own. :)**_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Three<strong>_

After his confession, she shouldn't have agreed to go with him.

She should have said a firm no, went home instead to where her father always was, sick in bed, waiting for her and listening carefully until he heard her arrive safely home through the front door. But against her better judgment, she found herself agreeing to come along with him to where he was staying for the night.

Since Liz didn't get the chance to read the newspapers or listen to the radio very often, she didn't know exactly who Raymond Reddington was, or why it was such a big deal that he was Raymond Reddington in the flesh, sitting across from her at the table.

But along with his confession, if there was one thing she knew above all else, it was that he was trouble. Trouble, and clearly nothing good for her.

He was trouble; the type of trouble her father always lectured her about staying away from, ever since she was a little girl: "You don't want to spend time hanging around with bad people, sweetie pie," her father Sam would tell her. "When someone's clearly bad news, you stay far away. You don't want their badness to rub off on you, because, people like us... well, we can't afford to be bad."

He was the worst kind of wrong for her to be associating with, if what all that he was telling her was true. He was on the run from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, having broken out of a penitentiary only four days ago. That was pretty serious, wasn't it? Her body screamed at her to leave before she got too involved and somehow got drawn into all of his trouble, yet as she got to her feet and stood from the table, her feet weren't cooperating with her. They stayed glued to the spot on the floor, while Red stood from his own chair to retrieve his overcoat and hat.

A small part inside her head was telling her to stay, that meeting him and discovering who he was, was awfully exciting. It wasn't everyday something like this happened in her boring, rundown life- a chance encounter with a criminal that was on the run and wanted by lawmen around the country.

He had a strange way of making her feel appreciated and wanted, despite the two of them basically having only just met.

He clearly knew how to treat a woman well: It showed in the way he automatically stepped closer towards her once having been handed back his coat; the way he draped it over her shoulders so she would be warm from the breeze in the air as they made their way back out of the restaurant into the lit street. The way he held the door open for her, and the way his gaze seemed only fixated on her and as if he felt her comfort was his number one priority as they walked and he showed her the way towards where he was staying for the night. It was easy to forget everything he had just told her about himself while she was being treated this way.

She only felt a faint stirring of panic once they entered the large building of the hotel where Red was staying in a room at. Everything was happening somehow so quickly; She felt she hadn't had enough time for it all to completely sink in, for her to completely understand what she was getting herself into, and just what it meant for her to be going off with this man she barely knew.

She could get into serious trouble with the law if anyone ever found out, and she felt her heart begin racing in her chest as she watched the hotel clerk behind the counter hand Red the set of keys to his room. Mr. Gibbons was the name he had purchased a room under for the night, something she found she was at a loss in understanding. Wasn't his name Reddington? Raymond Reddington? So why was he under the name Mr. Gibbons? It took her less than a second to completely understand why; It was his alias, a different name so it wouldn't tip anybody off.

She felt his hand touch her elbow, snapping her out of her confusion, and then she forced her legs to move, following him towards the staircase that lead up to the higher floors. The walk up the stairs seemed to go on and on, until Red took a left down the hallway, jiggling the keys in his hand as he went.

That horrible sensation of panic returned to her again, as he busied himself in unlocking the door to his room, his back turned to her. What was she thinking, really? If she went into his room, she knew there would be no turning back. It would be too late. The logical, rational side of her brain told her to speak up, to tell him she'd changed her mind and that she would prefer to head straight on home to her father. She should tell somebody, get him arrested. Yet she didn't want to.

She turned and looked down the narrow hallway towards the flight of stairs again, pressing her lips together. She could have easily turned and ran, made her escape before she got in too deep, and he probably wouldn't have even so much as noticed until she was completely gone and out of eyesight for good. But yet again, her legs didn't want to obey her.

They remained rooted on the spot, and, next thing she knew, the door to his room was opening and that was that, it was already far too late. Red stood aside to let her in and as she looked at him, she came to an instant understanding of why her legs weren't working with her.

Liz wanted him, she realized. For one night, she wanted to be with a man, for the first time in her life. Despite what he had just told her at the restaurant and realistically how little she knew of him, she actually wanted him. He just confessed himself to be a thief running from the law and, still, regardless of that dangerous tidbit of information, she wanted him.

It was everything about him that made her want him, not just one singular thing; The way he dressed, so impeccably and richly, the way he reeked with power and the way he clearly was cultured and had experienced different things in life that Liz could only have dreamed of. The way he spoke about his travelling with such a passion, and the way his voice sounded; a hypnotic undertone. The way he held the door open for her, the way he gave her his coat. He was older than her age wise; Balding and stocky, but the disparity of age in a relationship was not something unheard of. She'd seen women going around with older men before.

Liz wanted him, she wanted to spend the night with him, hear him talk some more about whatever he wanted to talk about. Since last night upon first talking to her, she had immediately found him fascinating. He was going places in life. He had seen and done certain things in life that Liz would probably never get the opportunity to do or experience, and that made being around him both fascinating and equally nerve-wracking.

And like a book she had only just opened and began reading, she wanted to know more and more, until she finished the very last page.

Ignoring the feelings her body was giving her to retreat, she walked into the room, looking around curiously while Red moved about, making minor adjustments.

She watched anxiously as he plopped his hat down on the nightstand near the bed in the middle of the room and then he turned on a lamp, illuminating the room in a dull glow of pale yellow. Now that Liz could see more clearly, she noticed the one room was bigger than even the kitchen in the apartment that she lived in with her father. Flowers were decorated on the wallpaper and on the curtains, and she saw that the adjoining bathroom door was left wide-open. The bathrooms size itself was bigger than the one she had at home, and even the tub put the one she had at home to shame.

She felt her mouth go dry as she watched him pull the tail of his shirt out from where it was tucked neatly in around his trousers as he moved towards the window. The window was open, the wind rustling the curtains around quietly, and Liz watched him a while longer as he closed it shut and moved towards where a suitcase was lying on the ground near the bed. She heard him open it as he knelt, pulling something out, but she didn't fully know what that something was until he stood and turned towards the window again.

_A gun._ He was clasping a small handgun in his right hand, and he backed up towards the wall until his shoulders hit the plaster, peeking out through the curtains into the street below the room, as if paranoid someone had followed them back to the room. Considering his admission, Liz realized he probably had all the good reason in the world to be paranoid.

"Oh, boy," she laughed uncontrollably due to the shock. "You weren't fooling around, were you?"

It was the very last thing she was expecting him to do while he had her alone in his hotel room. His look was absorbed and concentrated on what was happening outside the room, his lip curling over slightly. Was he expecting them to be in some kind of trouble? For a shootout to happen? She prayed not... Not while she was in his room, at least.

She didn't want to disrupt him, for fear he'd unexpectedly turn the gun on her, so she waited in silence until he looked away, preoccupying himself in expertly opening the chamber on the gun and removing the bullets inside it. He obviously knew how to use a gun well, Liz thought, somewhat enviously. The bullets clinked in his palm as he strode back over to the night table, where he sat them carefully near the lamp.

Finally, his attention was brought back to her, when Liz cleared her throat awkwardly. "Are you expecting trouble?"

"No, I'm not. At least not any that I am aware of." Red shrugged and he placed the handgun on the night table, his hands moving towards the first button on his vest. Liz suddenly recalled she was still wearing his overcoat, so she distracted herself by turning away from him and staring elsewhere as she flung her arms out of the sleeves. "But with this lifestyle I lead," he went on calmly, "a man can certainly never be too cautious. Forgive me for all that; I didn't mean to scare you just then."

Scaring her was, surprisingly, the very last thing he had done. She found herself only just slightly disappointed that she hadn't asked him for a closer look. She huffed with silent laughter. "You didn't scare me," she replied, folding his overcoat neatly and placing it on the edge of the bed. "I've just never seen one before."

"You've never seen a gun before, Lizzie?"

"Never," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "Not a real one, anyway. Is it real? Or is it just a... toy? Something for show?" She wouldn't be able to tell the difference, either way.

"Really, Lizzie?" He made a tutting noise with his tongue at her all the way from where he stood. "I tell you who I am and that I have G-men constantly after me, and yet you're quick to assume the gun is just a toy?"

She turned to look back at him, finding him standing closer than she had anticipated. He was within arms reach of her, all he had to do was lift one of his hands up and touch her. She maybe would have even liked it if he did. The buttons on his vest was undone, his head tilted slightly to the side as he drank all of her in; Her clothes, her dark hair. Just as she had learned throughout the evening, he could be unnervingly intense with his gaze, and she had to glance away. She glanced away across the room, taking in the suitcase on the floor again.

"Have you been staying here long?"

"Yes. For exactly forty-eight hours."

The playful hint of sarcasm was not lost on her. She gave him a tight smile, then her gaze fell on where the gun was resting on the night stand again, without her control. She was aching to grab it, to feel how it felt to hold it in her hands. "Can I hold it?" she asked him in a voice below a whisper, feeling scandalous even by requesting such a thing.

She found that Red was staring at her with a quizzical expression, his eyebrows raised. "Hold what, Lizzie?"

"Why, your gun, of course. Can I hold your gun? I've never seen one before, no less so much as touched one. But you already know that, don't you?"

Red was silent for a moment as he considered. She could almost feel his mind churning, pondering on whether it was safe or not to let her- virtually still a stranger to him- hold his gun. "I suppose that can be arranged," he said after a moment, snatching the handgun up from the night stand. "It isn't loaded, and I have removed the bullets. Think of it as another safety precaution, Lizzie."

She felt a surge of excitement course through her in a terrible way as she moved closer to accept the gun from him. His fingers brushed against hers as she took the gun and held it tightly in her hand, her fingers curling tightly around it. It felt lighter than what she was expecting, the metal cool and metallic. Liz enjoyed it more than she probably ought to have, more than what was probably right of her, when she lifted her hand and pointed the nozzle of the gun at him.

There was something strangely erotic about holding a powerful and deadly weapon in your hand.

She felt self-conscious all of a sudden as Red stood back a step, scrutinizing the way she looked as she held the gun in her hand. She hoped the pleasure wasn't written all over her face for him to see, but considering the way he appeared to be looking at her, with a certain hazy lust shining in his eyes, she realized it was plain for him to see.

"It feels good, doesn't it Lizzie?" he asked her, smiling knowingly. "First time I held a gun, I was twelve years old, it was my father's hunting rifle, and my father punished me until I was black and blue over it." He sighed dramatically as he looked her up and down again appreciatively. "Regardless of all that, the beatings were worth it just to experience how it felt holding a gun in my hands. Never lost the feeling of it ever since, hence why I probably embarked on this lifestyle of mine. It's marvelous, isn't it? Just how good it feels?"

It disarmed her that he seemed to know how she was feeling over it perfectly. What did that make her then? The type of person he was? Wrong in the brain? Either way, it didn't matter to her right now. All that mattered, was how it felt.

"I feel like... like I could almost conquer the world with this," she whispered breathlessly.

"Yes, exactly. You and me both. Here," he added, getting closer to her, "Let me show you how it's properly done, Lizzie."

She felt his body brush against her as he moved behind her, one of his hands slipping over hers as it held onto the gun. Her arm shook and trembled as he guided her, lifting her arm higher, so that the gun was raised and pointing towards the window. She stretched her neck slightly to the side to peer at his face, finding him a hair's length from her, his gaze on her lips, what looked like nothing but desire in his eyes at the sight of her holding his weapon in her hand and him, helping her along. The whole thing, his closeness, the length of his body pressing against her back, was thrilling and wildly arousing on her; Something Liz hadn't felt before with a man. She heard her breathing change, her eyes were transfixed on his mouth, she couldn't seem able to look away from him.

She could not help wondering what his lips felt like on her, how he tasted, and he was close enough to kiss her, only much to her disappointment, he didn't. Despite their closeness and no doubt how obviously aroused she was reacting, he did nothing and she was brought out of it, when he made her forefinger squeeze the trigger and a hollow empty clicking sound broke the silence around the room.

"Oh, God," Red whispered roughly, making her finger squeeze down on the trigger again. "It's like music to my ears. The sound." She felt oddly rejected and hurt, when he stepped away from her quickly, dropping his hands at his sides. "Forgive me," he said hastily, as if he didn't realize she enjoyed him being near her, invading her space. _But then why else did he invite her into his hotel room, if he wasn't going to try anything on her? _"Am I making you uncomfortable, Lizzie?"

"N-no," she said. "You're not making me feel uncomfortable." She sat his gun carefully on the bed spread. "I... I actually think I should go," she muttered quickly, only just remembering her father and how he would be waiting on her. "My father's waiting on me. I should probably go before he gets worried sick about me." _And clearly you have no intentions of having me stay_, she wanted to say out loud to him, but she didn't. "Thank you, it's been a... swell time." She couldn't help the hardness in her tone, the offense. "I wish you all the best."

Without another word, she rushed towards the door and left, perturbed by how she had felt by everything; By him, the revelation of who he was and what he did unlawfully yet still feeling aroused by him, by holding his gun. Clearly something was wrong with her; It was surely not a natural nor sane reaction.

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><p><strong>AN: I do hope this chapter was all right. :) Feel free to review and let me know. It means a lot. Sorry if this chapter is crappy or if the entire thing is in general, I get so anxious when updating.**  
><strong>Hope you all have a wonderful Christmas.<strong>


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